Loyalties
by brujon
Summary: Because he's not going to make the mistakes his father made—at least, not for the same reasons. Ted/Tracey drabble.


Ted wasn't stupid. He knew when to declare his loyalties. He knew they didn't even have to be true, just convincing. Both sides were beyond trying to persuade fence-sitters, and even those on the "good" side killed just in case. They'd always prided themselves on their honor and their mercy and their sacrifices, but finally they figured out that honor wouldn't save them, not from Voldemort.

Only Ted wasn't sure where his loyalties should lie, let alone where they _were_. He had no siblings to protect. Tracey had younger brothers in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, so she'd sided with them against her own house. Daphne had her sister, but Astoria was also in Slytherin, and far better equipped for self-preservation than Daphne; Ted could guess where they stood. Blaise had a Mark already, and Malfoy; maybe not Crabbe and Goyle, but they would follow Malfoy to the ends of the earth with or without a Mark.

He knew the smartest thing to do was hedge, but there was only so much hedging you could do when your father had practically promised you to the Dark Lord when you were born. Ted resented that his father's soul belonged to the devil, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it at this point. He never said a word, but Nott, Sr., wasn't stupid either, and the Dark Lord hardly ever heard about his quiet, unremarkable son. As far as Death Eaters went, Ted supposed Theodore, Sr., was a good parent—just look at the Malfoys—but by no means did that mean Ted intended to follow in his father's footsteps.

He didn't take that Mark to make his dad proud, or to save himself—he knew very well it would do no such thing, not really. Even ignoring his parentage, Ted was no less than expected to take a Dark Mark, and he knew he would be safer for it. But it wasn't his own ass he was worried about, it was Tracey's. She'd been the only thing Ted cared about since third year, and for some reason, when she finally figured that out in fifth year, she returned the sentiment. Her family was neither pureblooded nor historically Voldemort's, so it was really only bad luck that she was in Slytherin; otherwise she might have gotten away with keeping her head down. Nothing would give her outright immunity—Ted would cut off his Marked arm for that—but being so closely associated with a Death Eater had to keep her safe, at least from Voldemort. Ted knew it made them enemies of the other side, but the other side would listen to "I had no choice," especially because it was true.

He couldn't ever tell Tracey. She couldn't ever see it, because she'd leave. It wasn't just about the fact that Ted would die without her—that's what protected her: being near a Death Eater, whether or not she knew it. He never slept with her, because she couldn't see how he'd been branded like an animal. Ted was trapped, forced to justify his guilt with reasons that his heart mocked mercilessly. He knew with a horrible certainty that Tracey would hate him for what he was doing, but by then the war would be over, and she'd be safe, and it wouldn't matter. Then she could leave, if she wanted. And she would. She'd want nothing to do with a man who'd lied to her for so long about something like that.

He didn't believe for a second that Tracey cared that he'd done it for her. She'd want nothing to do with a man who did the things Ted did on behalf of the Dark Lord. Especially if that man tried to give her shit about how he'd done it all for her. He killed for her. He tortured for her. He lied and stole for her. But she'd die before she heard those words come out of his mouth. She would feel guilty enough as it was, as the reason Ted had committed these atrocities. But none of that mattered to Ted, because failing to follow through with any of those murders would have been to murder her. And her life far outweighed that of any Muggle-born or blood traitor.

But sooner or later everything had to fall apart. When she asked him that fatal question—he doesn't even remember now what she said, but the answer was yes—he knew better than to lie yet again. It was all over; she was safe. He was out of excuses. His words turned to ash in his mouth as she walked away. He couldn't even look at her, afraid to see the hate and the betrayal and the hurt and the _shit_ in her eyes. She walked away, silent as death, and never came back.

Ted knew he was lying when he told himself that she was safe, and that was enough. Every time he felt like screaming, every time he thought he saw her, and looked away before a strange woman could catch him staring at her lips—every time he got a save-the-date and wished it was his and Tracey's. _She's__safe_, he would tell himself_._

Ted wasn't stupid. He knew he hadn't made much of a difference in the long run. Certainly not a positive one. He'd killed people whose families felt about them the way he did about Tracey, people who were far more capable of wholesome love than he was. It wasn't okay, not even close, but Tracey was alive, and Ted liked to think it was because he'd protected her for those treacherous eight months.


End file.
